Hourglass
by slyfoxcub
Summary: Baki is Kaze no Ken, the Right Hand of the Kazekage, reluctant sensei, traumatized veteran and one of the few people a young, bloodthirsty Gaara listens to. Just as vision is determined by light, not line, the story of a man is told by those he affected, not statistics. Canon-compliant stand-alone companion to Stairs of Sand. Drabble format.
1. Prologue: Fallout

_AN: This is a prequel to Stairs of Sand on the Naruto side, but more of a very canon-compliant character study of Gaara before he met Naruto and in the 2.5 years Naruto was training. Also a lot of world building for Suna and the Land of Wind through Baki's eyes, based on a mix of Japanese(obviously), Arabian(think Aladdin) and desert nomad(mostly the Tuareg) culture._

 _Please be aware that this is going to be a very different society to the one you may have grown up in. Also, this is Gaara in the height of his insanity._

 _This Prologue isn't really necessary to this story, I just happened to be attacked by a Fallout-Suna plot bunny and I wanted to see if I could still write prose as well as I did in school. And I am sick and tired of stories that dumb down Gaara's insanity as well as 'Gaara meets girl' stories where she is miraculously on their first accidental meeting the one person who can get physically close without his sand reacting and/or who Shukaku likes!  
Gaara is introduced as a **villain**. A wild card, at the least. He terrified us in the Chunin Exams Arc because he was the 'creepy little kid' stereotype -remember the hospital episode?- but with a frightening power to back it up and the decidedly non-reassuring fact that even his **own team and family** are threatened by him. Rant over. But the only pre-Chunin Exams fic with a decent Gaara I've seen so far is _Forsaken of the Sand _by_ BetweenTheSeaAndStars.

* * *

 **Greetings!**  
 **Welcome, traveler, to our humble camp. I hope the spirits gave you fair travelling?**  
 **I see that you are weary to the bone; come sit by our fire, where tales are unraveling.**  
 **Let it not be said that our tribe left a fellow wanderer in need; come sit and sup!  
Lay down your pack and staff and take a bowl, let me fill your cup!  
** **Brave and foolish equal it was for you to walk the sands alone,  
** **For you look to be just a scholar, and so very far from home.  
** **The spirits do not kindly take to intruders on their lands,  
** **Shukaku must have seen fit to give you safe passage on his sands.**

 **You say you come from cities with gates of gold and marble walls,  
** **A place of painted ceilings, shelves of books and echoed lecture halls.  
You say you seek the stories, the whispers of days gone by,  
When shinobi ran these burning plains and a red moon once hung the sky.  
When the Shadows of the Wind itself moved the dunes to their commands,  
And the Dawn cast out it's tainted light across these barren lands.**

 **That City of Sand is gone alas, given over to jackals, snakes and the hawk,  
Streets unswept and shattered roof-shells, where once did warriors walk.  
Many fled, but some did not; bones sun-bleached white still stay behind,  
Great and small they gave their lives, for others who death sought to find.**

 **We tribes of the sands alone remain, forgotten but not forgetting,  
We remember stories of our ancestors, tell them when the stars are singing.  
Shukaku tells them back to us, by his breath of storms, for he remembers all  
The things that were, in the City of Sand, it's streets and between it's empty walls.**

 **Take up your scroll and pen and ink, for to you a story we shall tell,  
You recall the Shadows who ruled, some good and some not well?  
There is one who stood apart, both from his successors and those before,  
And although your histories speak his name, they do not open the door.  
For you know his name, his glory, but can you say you know the man?  
So we shall tell of just before, of madness, terror and bloody sand.  
For he did not walk alone along the path of life: a brother who  
Stood guard, a sister who remembered love, a teacher was there too.**

 **So hearken now, scribe fast and well, watched by a moon crescent and pale,  
For on a night like this an eon ago, in the City of Sand, so begins the tale.**


	2. The Child at the Festival

'Stardust in his brains; he's got the wanderlust,' the elders would grumble, even as the boy wandered to the edge of the camp, away from the safety of the campfire and the caravans to stare out at the expanse of wasteland, with his face exposed to the night cold. The boy's mother would always have to drag him back, fussing over him as she did so; brushing remnants of sand from the thick weave of his long robe and tucking his head-cloth around his head until all skin was covered and only dark eyes peeked out.

Every night this would happen and the caravan elders knew how it would end. The boy's attempts at play were spirited, as with any child, but the mind behind was too focused on other things. His eyes lingered too long on the backs of the escort shinobi and when the Puppeteers put on small shows for the children, he looked at the deft movements of their fingers, rather than the stuffed dolls and wooden animals loaned by the children for the performance. A Puppeteer noticed and said nothing, his painted face as immobile as a real mask. Once the performance was over, however, he instead threw away the comment; 'He's a serious little thing, isn't he? Knows where to look. If he ever gets tired of the caravans, we could use someone like him.'

The comment sent the boy's mother practically into a frenzy of trying to be the perfect mother, so that her boy would never want to leave for anything. But when she finally collapsed from the strain, sobbing, into the arms of her fellow mothers and the older matrons, she felt her little boy fling his arm around her skirts and tell her with his blunt but soothing words that she was already the best mother anyone could want. She didn't notice his eyes straying towards the dark smudge on the horizon that were the walls of Sunagakure no Sato.

* * *

The caravans of the Tadayou Sakyuu always came to Sunagakure for the annual Winter Storm Festival. They were, after all, practically family; intermarriage was common and it was a chance for families to reunite. Also, it was a Festival.

Evening always descended early at this time of year, but all were protected from the harsh winds by the great canyon in which Suna was housed. Coloured swathes of cloth stretched between rooftops, any gaps letting in the starlit sky framed by brightly-lit paper lanterns with streamers. Smells, smoke and sound filled the air as the market cooks slapped thick pats of goats cheese onto slabs of meat hissing furiously in large woks, stirred noodles and broth in massive steel pots, some shinobi good-naturedly offering their services in slicing onions at blurring speed, beleaguered but grinning assistants shooing away sticky fingers from child, adult and shinobi alike and laughing patrons simply enjoying the food.

Even wounded shinobi made an appearance, arms in slings, hobbling on a crutch or with bandages peeking out from under their kimono. Any pain or disadvantage this might have afflicted upon them was not visible as they laughed and talked and ate with the rest; laughing as shinobi children and Genin played Ricochet in the alleyways off Mainstreet and between the balustrades of Underbridge, trailing lanterns and ribbons behind them. They were joined a bit more slowly by civilian and caravan children, held carefully by the shinobi who carried them and who took the opportunity to relive their younger days with the dangerous sport.

The animals here were friends and partners of the shinobi; unlike the caged beasts in the menageries of the nobles, these roamed free. Scorpions of varying sizes, ranging from the size of a mouse to that of a large cat, clung to the backs, shoulders or head-wrappings of their respective shinobi, their backs daubed with bright paint in decoration for the Festival and to mark them as nin-animals. Vultures and hawks perched regally upon shoulders, stooping to take the food offered to them while Jackals and large-eared foxes darted between legs and begged food from children and civilians. Horned vipers, Thorny lizards and other reptiles sought the relative darkness and quiet of their partners' sleeves, collars and head-wrappings. Large golden moles, the sizes of terrier dogs, snuffled through the legs of the crowd while smaller or younger ones were carried in satchels or baby slings.

Matrons and young women displayed their needlecrafts to sell, while a whole row of merchant tables glittered with metals both precious and practical. The craftspeople themselves bought things from the shinobi and the few vagrant traders; sheddings from nin-animals and the skins and bones of ordinary ones, shells and stones collected from beyond the borders and plants good for dying cloth, as well as gaudy bits taken from the bodies of bandits and robbers.

As the bronze gong tolled the late hour, the crowds drew to the edges of the streets as a carnival of grotesque and deadly forms cavorted and tumbled over the packed dirt. Puppets of all kinds moving in all sorts of ways; dancing, crawling, shuffling and leaping. Between the wooden figures were the black-swathed ones of the Puppeteers, some moving in the macabre dance alongside their creations while others strode along with only their fingers in motion. Behind the cavalcade of painted faces, twin venerable elders in white glided. Many shinobi in the crowd whispered and bowed their heads in respect.

"Chiyo-hanshi."

"Ebizo-chinō soshiki."

"I hear Chiyo-sama is retiring this year!"

"That's been said for the last six years, but it's never happened."

"No! It's happening for real this year!"

"Really? What was the last straw?"

"According to one of my cousins, she's to be a grandmother."

"Who's taking over the Corps?"

"How should I know?"

"Ssh, it's time!"

The boy poked his head around someone's leg in time to see dark cloth swish imperiously by, a glittering aura of iron filings trailing in the man's wake. He barely had time to look before the man bent his knees and jumped, soaring over the crowd before alighting on the roof of one of the houses. Everyone broke out in cheering. It was the boy's first look at the Sandaime Kazekage.

Instead of the white and turquoise robes of office, he instead wore an open-fronted black haori over a cream-coloured hitatare of fishtail-braided strips and beige hakama. His dark blue hair framed his face with short spikes and choppy side-bangs with the rest pulled neatly into a reverse chonmage. Eyes like burnished bronze, thinly ringed with black and graced with a long curving line of khol swept the crowd, accompanied by a grin. The people fell silent and still and, carried by chakra, his voice thundered a message of friendship, prosperity and endurance.

Halfway through, a person in a demon mask had appeared in the shadows with a teenaged boy by her side. He wore Suna's forehead protector, had the same thin line of black not-khol around his eyes and his hair was a dark puce colour. A few of the other shinobi muttered, but otherwise the two were ignored.

Baki didn't notice at all. It didn't matter. Nothing would change his mind now.

When the caravan left after the Winter Storm Festival, Baki did not go with it. His mother wept.

Baki followed the wind and pledged himself to it in blood.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **Hanshi is an honorific used in the context of a particular martial discipline to refer to a 'teacher of teachers' or 'Grand Master'.**

 **Someone's profession can also be used as an honorific.** **Hence 'chinō soshiki'=intelligence organization. Baki states in Shippuden that the Honoured Siblings have an extensive information network. However, Chiyo would have been busy with the Puppeteer Corps.**

 **The Sandaime's robes are those shown as being worn by the Kazekage statues in the council chamber. I'm saying that that outfit is worn for intra-Suna-specific occasions, like Festivals.**

 **A hitatare is an older and more formal form of a kosode. For reference, Inuyasha wears a red hitatare.**

 **The reverse chonmage is the bun hairstyle the Sandaime wears, he just doesn't shave the rest of his head. The modern-day 'man bun' is actually a messy chonmage.**

 **Rasa is ten years older than Baki.**

 **Suna elects it's Kazekage by direct blood succession, so it's pretty obvious who Rasa's father was(Jiton, anyone?). They even have similar faces. Also, the Nidaime had no eyebrows, so did that just skip a few generations?**


	3. Unlikely Friendships

**Remember the 'Puppeteer friend' I mentioned in the interlude? Contains disturbing topics. Trigger warnings for child abuse, slavery, paedophilia and implied forced voyeurism.**

"If we get out of this alive, I'll buy you a drink," Kokan Nishi said out of the blue.

Baki huffed, not dignifying the statement with an answer. The Puppeteer he was carrying over his shoulder jabbed him in the ribs in response. "You're supposed to say 'I'll do the same for you', you know? Speaking of alcohol, how old are you anyway? Sure, Suna headband means you're an adult, but you look pretty scrawny."

"Only if you tell me yours first, pervert."

"Twelve."

"Ten. You didn't deny it when I called you pervert. Midget."

"Oh ha ha, make fun of the short guy. It's just short legs; leggist, that's what you are. I'll get my growth spurt soon enough, just you wait! And I'm not a pervert, I'm simply an avid student of anatomical correctness in Puppetry."

"You were staring at Ikoi's ass. That's why you have two broken legs."

"It's a very proportionate and therefore attractive ass, I'll have you know. I was taking the time to appreciate it, Caravan Boy."

"What difference does that make?" Baki made sure to jolt his passenger as he jumped a small crevice. Kokan winced. "Okay, point made. I just know that Caravan people aren't allowed to have sex until they're fifteen and get their tattoos. Poor, deprived soul OW!"

"Sorry, I'm sure," Baki sneered. "I'm ten and haven't even hit puberty yet, you paedophile. One more insinuation and I leave you out here. It's only a few miles over burning hot sand for you to crawl."

Kokan said nothing, staring pensively ahead until they stopped by a rocky overhang for a water break. "Apologies," the Puppeteer muttered. "Manzo-shishou keeps saying I need to learn to shut my mouth and think before speaking. Please don't call me a paedophile, I hate them. Hatehatehatehate...'" He whimpered.

Baki sucked in a breath. "Your old sensei was summarily executed, I...Fujin-kami-sama, I'm sorry for calling you that."

Kokan shuddered, his fingers flickering and his puppet darting out from his backpack to curl comfortingly around his neck. "Not quite. But he knew, knew that I was once a Flesh-trade Slave, knew what I had seen and he offered me up for a particular baiting mission and I..."

Baki sat down next to him, only to receive a scorching glare. "Don't do that, don't even look at me! I don't need your pity and I'm not broken! No-one ever touched me, so nobody gets to look at me like that!"

Baki punched him in the face. "There you go, that isn't pity. Now shut up and take the water bottle. Midget."

Kokan eyeballed him suspiciously, ignoring his split lip and the blossoming bruise on his cheek. He seemed to see whatever he was looking for. "Seriously, I'll buy you a drink. The good stuff, I promise, not that watered down piss they dare to masquerade as sake."


	4. Resonating with a Comrade

**I was just going to introduce a background OC, when this world mechanic head-canon appeared and bit me on the backside. I've probably been reading too many HP/KHR fics, but it still fits and I'm keeping it.**

Mokichi Omori was a good kid. He was also a good shinobi. He didn't look it, with the big glasses and the short tousled hair that framed a round, babyish face with long eyelashes and clean skin. He looked soft, weak, fodder-grade. To a Suna Jonin or Chunin, however, he looked dangerous. Because in this world, you couldn't afford to look soft unless you had serious skills.

In terms of shinobi-related accomplishments, his main skill was underestimation. His signature weapon were two small tessen, which contradicted his earth affinity. Enemies would expect wind techniques, only to find that he used them in the more traditional courtesan assassin manner; those who attacked would find that the protruding points of the spokes were laced with a variety of poisons. Speaking of poison, he was also a skilled iryo-nin. Nowhere near Tsunade's skill but his multi-tasking made him something else;he could patch you up with only one hand while successfully parrying a storm of various projectiles with the other. His only bad habit was that he could be very vindictive. That led to the rather unsettling interrogation scene where he broke every single bone in each of his victim's arms, while naming them. He was a good shinobi.

To Baki and several others, he was 'a good kid'. Because he was only a Genin, in the midst of all the Chunin and Jonin. He kept turning down promotion, because when people heard his rank, they underestimated him. He was the 'baby' of his peer group, and not only in rank; he was the youngest, with three years between him and Toju, the next youngest. That made Mokichi eight years younger than Baki. They looked out for each other, the lot of them, because this world was a cruel place but you needed someone to trust; especially when the Third Shinobi War began. Mokichi was there when Urayama was poisoned by Tsunade, he was there alongside Shima when they collapsed the ground beneath a platoon of Kumo shinobi, he was there when Ikoi needed extraction from her explosive-planting mission, he was there to back up a group of cornered Suna couriers, he was there when Toju needed a mercy killing from the agony of a crushed pelvis, he was there when Baki led a risky mission to the borders.

He was always there for them, with whirling tessen and a wry smirk and a healing jutsu.

So when he went missing on a patrol mission, they were there.

They found him, Baki slicing his signature Futon jutsu through the stomach of the first Uchiha and Urayama snicked the head of the one holding the genjutsu from her shoulders with razor wire. Shima and Ikoi took care of the rest while Otoe grabbed Mokichi and high-tailed it.

When Baki and Urayama regrouped with the rest at their designated fall-back point, Otoe had already released the genjutsu. He was shaking uncontrollably, pupils blown so wide his eyes were almost all black.

They didn't have the luxury of therapy in this war. Once he had been checked that he hadn't divulged anything, he had two days leave. It wasn't until a week after the genjutsu that he felt comfortable enough to talk, having been using hand-signs instead of vocalising. Apparently the genjutsu had involved centipedes and he didn't feel comfortable opening his mouth. It was during this period that Baki realised Mokichi was Resonated with him.

This, he had not anticipated. If it weren't for the fact that Baki already registered Mokichi as His, he would have felt more guilty about not Reciprocating. He told the rest of the group his discovery and was floored when they nodded and said they could see how it came about; Baki might not be the most approachable, but competency, seniority, the care he had for each of them must have attracted Mokichi. Who as far as they knew(and they knew a lot about him), didn't have any other Resonated, unlike them.

The end result was that Mokichi was practically fused to Baki throughout all the free time he had during the recovery period. Baki found a new appreciation for having a Resonated who had no qualms acting on their instincts, and began to feel a little ashamed that he didn't seem to Reciprocate. Unlike the Resonance he had with Rasa.

* * *

He wondered why Rasa still Resonated with him, despite Baki choosing and succeeding in breaking his Reciprocation with the implacable Kazekage(then-Candidate) years ago. Rasa had noticed; of course he did. But Rasa had had Baki still keep his title of Kaze no Ken. Really; it wasn't obvious? Rasa had blatantly stated that Baki was his right hand, his arm of power, to all and sundry. It meant that Baki could be an Interim Kazekage should the need ever arise, but to the two men it was Rasa marking out his territory; Baki was Rasa's, no matter if it wasn't a Reciprocated Resonance.

The man was a pissy little bastard when the mood took him.

Baki suspected that even without the trauma, Mokichi wouldn't mind being as demonstrative as he was at the moment. Baki actually stayed at the younger man's place several times, usually sharing the bed. Nothing sexual about it; just two chakra systems balancing each other with their proximity and skin contact.  
Rasa would never do that, Baki knew. The only Resonating touches he and Baki had shared were small ones merely to the hands and face and even then Baki had only touched Rasa's face once. He had been drugged and shivering with fever-bright eyes and Baki had flown to his distress with little care for other duties. He had touched the older man's face, merely reaching out to trace the chakra paths and some deeply ingrained instinct had seized Rasa's consciousness to break Baki's arm. That would not have phased Baki, had it not been for the look of _violation_ and _self-loathing_ in Rasa's eyes.

It wasn't the first indication Baki had that something inside Rasa was broken, but it was the first one that _hurt._

When Rasa hurriedly took up the mantle of Kazekage, he made the choice to wear the veil and look Baki in the eyes while wearing it. Baki once would sit behind Rasa's shoulder, but now he had to deliver his reports with a rattan screen between them and let guards hand things to Rasa for him. It was the knowledge that Rasa felt better off without him caring that made Baki reach deep inside himself and sever the bond.

Then Rasa chose not to let him go. Baki was still his right hand.

Baki's chakra registered Rasa merely as a powerful shinobi who Baki knew. With the Resonance broken on the younger man's end, Rasa no longer felt _RightSafePowerHome_ to Baki as he once had. He still let Rasa touch him, he wasn't cruel enough to deprive the older man Resonating touches, but now it was his human decency and respect and devotion to his Kage that made him do it rather than his own chakra's need.

What creeped him out the most was the fact there was no pain or wrongness once the bond was gone. His chakra was no different, it had simply reclassified Rasa and the man's new designation meant it would not react in the same way. Where once their chakras would automatically balance and soothe, it was now a one-sided effort. Baki neither gained nor lost anything, he was neutral now. While Rasa's chakra would still balance when they were close, it would never be quite as long-lasting; it was how Unreciprocated Resonation worked.

* * *

Baki was quite happy for Mokichi to Resonate with him. They were still on the same team every now and again and once the trauma began to subside, that was all they needed.

Baki might not Reciprocate Mokichi's Resonance bond, but he was a Possessive. That meant Mokichi was His. A Possessive bond was close enough to a Resonance for other shinobi to acknowledge. Baki and Rasa had been (and still were, technically, but Baki suspected Rasa was Possessive towards him now)Equal and Urayama was Possessive of Baki.  
As the oldest, Urayama was Possessive of the whole group with the exception of Mokichi and Ikoi. Baki was Possessive of Mokichi while Ikoi and Urayama had a Reciprocated Resonance plus a sexual relationship.

It felt unusual to Baki to be Possessive, but it felt _right._ While Mokichi's chakra balanced, Baki's called out _MineFamilyMineProtectMine._ It didn't really change anything in a sense. Mokichi got no special privileges, he wasn't exempt from missions and got no extra pay. As Mokichi's Resonator, Baki got the same rights as blood-family; Mokichi having no blood-family, Baki was the designated next of kin in all official documents.

That was it.

They still drove each other up the wall on certain things, liked different things and at times flat out hated each other, but Mokichi still needed Baki and Baki still felt the urge to protect Mokichi.

* * *

 **Suna shinobi do have their bonds and 'precious people', they simply have a more elaborate system of classification. It makes more sense and helps to prevent other shinobi overstepping boundaries and potentially getting hurt. They don't understand why Konoha shinobi are so vague about something so important, but they respect that the four-man Genin cell set-up promotes Resonance on a broader spectrum. Suna sticks to a tutoring system to form Resonances quicker and stronger.**

 **Kiri is looked down upon in particular by Suna, because the infamous graduation exam made students forcibly break whatever Resonances they had with fellow students and teachers. This process inevitably led to Kiri shinobi being bloodthirsty, often killing their comrades and having little personal loyalty to their Village. It's why Kiri had such a high output of nukenin.**

 **For Reference:**

Resonance  
A bond formed by chakras that balance each other out.

Reciprocated  
The Resonance is mutual. E.g. Person A's chakra is balanced by Person B's chakra, while Person B's chakra is balanced by Person A's chakra.

Unreciprocated  
The Resonance is not mutual. E.g. Person A's chakra is balanced by Person B's chakra, while Person B's chakra is neutral/unresponsive to Person A's chakra. Sentence use: Person B is a Resonat _or_ , while Person A is Resonat _ed_.

 **Resonances have to be formed unconsciously the first time, but can be consciously broken. The Resonance can be reformed, but must be done consciously.  
A person can break their own Resonance with no side effects. Resonance's can be broken by a third party through torture, but usually restore quickly upon removal from the scenario.**

 **Shinobi with a Resonator are 86% less likely to turn to substance abuse than shinobi without.**

 **Shinobi who are closely attuned to animals, whether summons or nin-animals, are more likely to respond to threats to their Resonated/Shielded/Equal with force.**

Possessive  
One person feels a sense of territorial responsibility towards another. Resonation is not needed on either end, but can be included. Possessives are often Unreciprocating Resonators. The Possessive is often stronger or older than the Shielded, though there are several exceptions.  


Shielded  
A person is the territorial responsibility of another. Resonation is not needed on either end, but can be included.

Equal  
Neither Possessive nor Shielded. The majority of these shinobi have a Reciprocated Resonance.


	5. Someone Else's Family

Temari had been a precocious little thing from the moment they met. Baki didn't know where she got it from, but suspected it was from Rasa rather than Karura. To think that Rasa might have been so like his daughter if only he wasn't so damaged...depressing thoughts for another day.

He had met Karura, of course. He and Rasa had been Reciprocating Resonated at the time, so of course they had run into each other. He had struggled at first to see anything of worth in her; his shinobi mind-set very judgemental of her civilian status. He saw how smitten Rasa was with her in his own way and clamped down on the jealousy. When he heard her blithely comment to her brother how cold Rasa was, his instincts screamed at him to rid his Equal of this parasitic weakling.

Instead, he asked Ikoi to take her aside and explain about Resonance and what it entailed before Baki explained to her in private that it _wasn't Rasa's fault_ that he didn't feel the same way as most people, but he was deeply in love with her and had Resonated with her. So she had better get her act together, or Baki and several other shinobi would take no small pleasure in making her life a misery for breaking the Jounin's heart.

She got her act together.

Baki watched as the two became closer and a few days after the Third Shinobi War officially broke out, Karura told Rasa that she was pregnant. Baki didn't even know Rasa could _be_ hysterical.  
Karura and Baki together held their mutual friend down and coaxed him through the manic happiness, self-recrimination and blank fear.

Sunagakure successfully held off any advances on the borders of Kaze no Kuni until Temari was a year old. Then the Sandaime disappeared.

Chaos erupted.

Almost as one, Suna-nin swept across the desert in every direction in a frantic search, which ultimately allowed outside forces to break in. The desert sands turned red and devastating losses were suffered. Rasa was exhausted to the bone, going out again and again to vent his frustration upon enemy shinobi with choking gold and dull eyes. Baki was out there too, wreaking havoc, teeth bared and eyes alight with adrenaline along with the rest of his group. Then Mokichi was tortured. Shortly after, Rasa ascended to Kazekage during a lull in the war.

His heart ached at the sight of Rasa being so open with his wife and daughter, softly almost-smiling as he made animals of gold prance above his child's crib to hear her laugh. It was with the knowledge that Rasa wouldn't be alone that Baki severed his bond.

Rasa merely told him that he expected him to keep the title of Kaze no Ken, oh and that Karura was pregnant and her security detail would be increasing accordingly. Stinging and disorientated by the bland dismissal, he nearly bumped into Karura. He supposed he must have looked quite the sight; face drawn with exhaustion, arms striped with field dressings and gloves of congealed blood. She stared at him with wide rabbit eyes for second before she realized who he was. All he could do was spit out a 'congratulations' before staggering off to the nearest barracks hospital.

* * *

Baki slowly surfaced from unconsciousness to the distinctive smell of hospital and the discomforting feeling of not being able to feel _half his face!_ He made to forced himself upright, but a firm hand laced with familiar and powerful chakra on his chest pushed him back down.

"Kazekage-sama," he said, or tried to; all he could manage was a rasping gurgle.

"The sedatives, and maybe a bit of soreness from inhaling hot air," Rasa said, trailing his fingers over Baki's throat. "You're actually lucky you didn't have time to bring your hands up; that fireball was too compact, it would have punched right through and you'd be down to stumps."

Baki's heart hammered at the information. He'd come so close to...He accepted the soaked rag placed to his lips and sucked down the water. "Face?" He managed to gravel out. Rasa's mouth became a grim line.  
"It grazed you, otherwise you'd still be in surgery having your eye-socket stuck back together. That's the good news. They couldn't save the eyeball and the flesh is all melted together. The ear...there's only a 68% chance you'll still have your hearing on that side."

Baki didn't notice when Rasa finally got up and left. He fought the drugs in his system far into the night, staring blankly up at the ceiling as his mind churned with overflowing emotion.

* * *

"Again," Baki commanded. The little girl frowned and repeated the kata, this time putting too much power into her movements. She fell flat on her back as a result. Baki repressed a sigh.

"We're done for today. By tomorrow I expect you to have realised what you're doing wrong and a method on which to correct it." He turned and walked away, not even waiting for Temari to reply. He wasn't particularly worried; she knew how to put the training fans away and get herself home.

Mokichi and Kokan fell in step beside Baki as he exited the training ground. He raised an...his eyebrow as they pressed tighter, swinging him away from his usual course. "What's the big idea?" He growled.  
He dodged their blows easily enough. Seizing the fronts of their clothing, he slammed them together, twisting their arms behind their backs and pushing them to the ground.

"What the hell is going on?!" He snarled, only to halt at the warning prick of a blade and a sudden light weight on his back.

"Being a little harsh, aren't you? Baki-sensei?" Kokan grinned up at him. "All this frustration isn't good for you. We came along to help you release it, since you weren't doing it yourself."  
Next to him, Mokichi weakly mumbled "damn pervert" under his breath.

"I'm fine," Baki said as evenly as possible, letting them both up. The puppet on his shoulders jumped back to it's master. "I'm in perfect shape, as you can tell."

"Lie," Mokichi chimed. "You're hurting. Why didn't you come to me?"

Whatever Baki was going to say next died in his throat at that question. He took a great shuddering breath. "I...not here. Somewhere else...'" He seized them both and wrenched them along with his own Shunshin. They reappeared momentarily in among the rocky spires of one of the more distant training grounds. Kokan clapped his hands together enthusiastically.  
"If I punch you, will you feel better? Or is this a talk-it-out problem? Or Mokichi can hug you if you want!"

Baki shot a half-hearted glare at him, before giving up and merely sighing exasperatedly. "Why are we friends, again?" He slapped away the hand reaching for his ass, making Kokan pout. "So mean," the Puppeteer whined. "We know each other so well, Baki. So if none of those options works for you, we could always have s-"  
"Still not interested, pervert. Fine; Mokichi?"

The medic stepped forward into the proffered embrace, humming contentedly as their chakra reached out and touched. He lifted his hand to brush aside the veil and run his fingers over the damaged flesh. "Does it hurt?" He asked sorrowfully.  
"Aches a little," Baki grunted, feeling the tension slip away as Mokichi's calming chakra washed through him. "It's fine, I kept my hearing on that side."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, _wild_ shot in the dark here," Kokan drawled, cutting in on the moment. "I'm guessing that your current moodiness has something to do with the Kazekage and his woman. Or maybe your incredibly agitated chakra is caused by the breaking of a Reciprocated Resonance?" A slight flicker of Baki's eyelid was enough confirmation for the two of them.

"Did it myself," Baki assuaged them, seeing the mounting concern and mild anger rising in their frames.

Kokan took a deep breath. "So, we're agreeing that life is shit and moving on as best as we can?" He asked.

"Baki's apologising to Temari-sama," Mokichi insisted. "Not fair. And he gets more hugs."

"I'm liking the sound of that," Kokan grinned. Mokichi rolled his eyes alongside Baki. "From me/him, pervert," they chorused in unison.

* * *

 **Chibi!Gaara next chapter.**


	6. Ticking Time Bomb

**Chibi!Gaara, as promised, and things between Baki and Rasa come to boiling point.**

The "Don't touch me!" spilled from Baki's lips instinctively as Rasa reached for him. He withdrew his hand as their eyes met, and Baki was caught between grim satisfaction at the pain in the older man's gaze and unease at the thousand-yard stare that flickered in and out of the dark pupils.

The baby was absolutely-fucking- _tiny._ Only 19 weeks through gestation and roughly the size of a child's throwing ball. Cursed before he was even born.

Nobody even knew what to do now the sealing was over. No one was willing to nurse the child(was he even capable of feeding?) and baby formula was not that specialised. IV drips were also failing, as the sand shielded the baby from anyone touching his skin. The child was living off pure chakra, mostly Bijuu chakra which could definitely not be good. At the moment, they were relying on that instead searching for an alternative.

Baki felt sick.

It wasn't until Gaara's actual predicted date of birth had passed that anybody acknowledged him as a living being, and Temari and Kankuro were allowed to see him.

Despite their shinobi upbringing, they were still at the childhood stage where girls think babies are cute and boys begin to think babies are something to be ignored as they don't make good playmates. It was rather amusing, in a twisted sort of way. Twisted, because everything about this picture was wrong. Gaara was already crawling, body that should have been round and chubby with baby fat now thin and wire-lean. At least he had taken well to the baby formula they'd finally started feeding him and gained some weight. Comforting was the fact that the sea-glass green eyes(rimmed with black like Rasa using Jiton, weren't metal sand techniques copied from...'?) were bright and alert, following everything that moved. They weren't clouded or distracted, which was something of a relief.

The sand...the sand coating the skin, preventing human contact...was a worry. Some little fact from long ago surfaced in Baki's head with the indomitable force of a sea-mine. _Babies need regular skin contact or they just die, nobody's touched Gaara, nobody will touch Gaara if they can help it, oh kami the kid's going to just keel over and die and I won't be able to do anything...'_

"Can otouto play?" Temari asked, eyes shining up at him. "Sensei!" She amended quickly. Baki exchanged a desperate glance with the ANBU carrying Kankuro, who could only shrug in hesitation. 'Me, responsible,' Baki signed after coming to a decision and receiving a 'so be it' shrug as the ANBU stopped a two-year-old Kankuro from fiddling with the collar of his cloak.

Baki found himself stuck once again as Gaara's eyes met his. Oh Fujin-kami-sama, how did he do this? What if the sand...? He shook off the doubts and took a deep breath.

The sand was soft and powder-dry beneath his fingers as he took the tiny weight that stared up at him with wide eyes and a quiet mewling sound of curiosity. A trickle of sand grains began to twine itself up his knuckles and towards his wrists. _His hands!_

Gaara was deposited on the rug as gently as possible and with all haste, for Baki to scrape the particles from his hands and feeling like someone had 'hammered out his stake' as his Caravan relatives said.

"You have hair like Otou-san!" Temari exclaimed to Gaara delightedly, who merely stared back at her, bemused by the strange person in front of him.  
Baki kept a careful eye on the tendrils of sand grains winding between the rug fibres and thick with Bijuu chakra. In the name of Fujin-kami-sama, the Sage and all his ancestors, he hoped the seal was enough. It was meant for total restraint within a person or reinforced vessel. Just containment. But Rasa and Lady Chiyo wanted a _weapon_ , which meant giving Gaara access to Shukaku, which meant changing the seal's matrix. And gut instinct, as well as the corrosive chakra within the child's veins, told him that it had worked a little _too_ well.

Familiar chakra pulsed just outside the door and everyone in the room reacted; stiffening before turning to face the door.

Yashamaru hovered gingerly at Rasa's shoulder, a fake plastic smile on his face as he trotted forward to take Kankuro from the ANBU and lead a hesitantly-protesting Temari out via a firm and unrelenting grip on her wrist.  
Under Rasa's veil, dark eyes pinned the now-frozen ANBU in place.

"I take full responsibility," Baki said smoothly, stepping between them and meeting Rasa's gaze.

"Very well. Leave us," Rasa acquiesced, the masked shinobi vanishing as fast as possible to escape the heavy, foreboding feel to the air.  
With a chiming hiss, a thin pall of gold wrapped around Gaara and lifted him off of the floor. As soon as he was deposited within the high walls of the cot, it's defensive seals automatically activated and Killing Intent saturated the room.

The sheer force and _focus_ of it drove the air from Baki's lungs and made him stagger a step backwards. " _Never_ suborn my shinobi again, Baki."

"I- I didn't-" he coughed out, only to be dragged to his knees by the heavy gold weights forming on his neck and back.  
"If your actions had released Shukaku, the Village would have been harmed, lives lost. You coerced one of _my_ ANBU into standing by as you committed what is tantamount to an act of treason."

"So the seal really _is_ that weak, holy _fuck_ Rasa, you-gurgh!" The metal around his throat constricted.

"You are in no position to use my given name, Baki. Especially not with things between us as they are." The golden collar eased it's grip, Baki eagerly sucking down lungfuls of air as Rasa crouched before him. "I don't like having to reprimand you like this." Before Baki could flinch away, a cool hand gripped his jaw tight, pulling on his chakra. But it didn't come.

"You're right," Baki toned, voice cracked. "I can't use your name; Rasa is dead, isn't he?"

Gold crumbled as dark eyes stared in disbelief, but Baki didn't rise. "My friend, my once-home, is no more. I will mourn his passing." Now he rose to his feet, something hollow and exhausted in his bones. "Will you, _Kazekage-sama_?"

* * *

"The _fuck_?" Kokan asked tremulously, tracing the bruises on the bared throat before him as if Baki would crumble under his mere touch. "How did...gold, _fuck_." His arm began to shake.

"He fucking _collared_ you, Baki."

"I'm fine," Baki reassured, clasping the Puppeteer's hands in his. "It...it's over between him and me now. It's fine."

"It's not fine!" Kokan cried, snatching his hands away. "Even if you were Resonated, even if you weren't, he _collared_ you. Like a slave! He made you kneel; _humiliated_ you! Used you for your chakra then let you go; if that's not exploitation I don't know what is!" His breathing grew fast and raspy, hands shaking even as they dug like claws into Baki's vest.

"I can't lose you too...not like this, not again...'"

"I'm not going anywhere, friend," Baki murmured above his head as he ran his fingers through sweat-soaked blond hair. "Look, look, you're here in your own apartment, you're an accomplished Chunin Puppeteer, nobody's going to make you do anything you don't want to, you're fully capable of defending your precious people, it's okay, sshsshssh...'"

Minutes passed as they stood there, Kokan's unsteady breathing gradually slowing with his face buried in Baki's vest. Until...

"Okay," Baki grunted. "If you're feeling up to groping my ass, you can stop with the hugging now."


	7. Aftermath of a Mission

**Two more OCs and consensual three-way cuddles as short-term recovery from trauma.**

 **Warnings: PTSD, Domestic/Workplace Abuse and implied sex.**

This mission has been, by anyone's definition of the word, hell. His feet are just walking through the main gate and there's fire on his skin, electricity still zinging through his nerves like live wires. He needs—needs to be surrounded by monsters like him, people drenched in the death that wafts off him like a tremulous miasma, invisible to the civilian mother dragging children behind her, unsmellable to the happy Genin cracking lewd jokes with a joy that sets his teeth on edge.

But even at the Kazekage Towers, even among the other creatures in skins like his, they understand even less. He gets a "good job" from the Yondaime, an approving nod from Mari, a coy glance from some Chunin in Stores, and his flesh crawls that this is business as usual, that the happy families in that town far away, in the streets, strolling down the south bank of a river down which a corpse is now floating cannot comprehend the killers he is with.

Is one of.

By the time he makes his way down to Apartment Block 3 —down to home, and his brain frizzles a bit with static at that word—he's overstimulated. His nerves crackle and hiss, and when he's jostled—bumped, really—by one of his neighbours, he registers the sensation of the man's larynx, the tender softness of his throat, beneath his fingers before the heat from the tea that's been spilled on him comes through. The man is terrified, and he should be. He should be frightened, should—

But there's a gentle tug at his waist, and when Baki looks down, there are strong, sturdy fingers in the strap of his kunai pouch. They don't—Urayama doesn't pull, doesn't scold, doesn't do anything more: just fingers in the strap of Baki's pouch, and the fuzzing at the edges of the world flickers, fades.  
His vision's still not sharp; it can't be sharp with this much adrenaline in his system, but there's clarity, some cool relief, and Baki lets his fingers come away from the nin's—it's Kazuhiro, he knows now, Kazuhiro from Barriers, who likes it when the kunoichi on the top floor puts fresh senbei in the communal lounge and does so much with upkeeping the seals around the Village. It's Kazuhiro, and Kazuhiro does good work; Urayama would miss Kazuhiro— There's a sigh of tension in the air that he only now recognises as it blows away.

It's been a long time since he and Urayama were on a squad together. He'd thought Urayama had broken the Possessive Bond he had had with Baki. Maybe he had and this was just for old time's sake. He's in no state of mind to tell.

Ikoi's in the apartment he's manhandled into. Of course she is; she's married to Urayama and this is where they live. Seeing that she's dressed in only underwear and a rumpled shirt that is definitely not hers, he retains enough social graces to avert his eyes. Big mistake.  
He begins to sway.

Only for Urayama to wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him close, taking his weight and more. Baki's not a small man and more solid than most but Urayama is built like the proverbial brick shithouse and a veritable tank of a man with muscles denser and more compacted than an ox on steroids. It's no big effort on his part to lift Baki up bodily and sit them both on the sofa, tugging the flak-jacket off and tossing it on the floor. It's like Baki can breathe again and he descends into blissful unconsciousness, the sort where there are no dreams.

* * *

"'...ribs chime beneath her hands and he shudders. It's too close. The only small concession is that her hands are sheathed inside of gloves, but he still felt the pull. The living cannot touch the dead and the dead cannot stay with the living. This is madness of the highest order, but he cannot bring himself to speak out against it. He has but a little time left anyway before he must return and even though his heart froze long ago, somehow it aches at the thought of returning to his slumber...'

You awake?"

The low cadence of Urayama's reading had roused Baki most of the way from slumber and now he is awake.  
"Hmyeah," he manages to grunt. "S'ry."

Urayama carefully inserts a bookmark between the pages and sets the volume down. "I couldn't just leave you in that state, Baki. I heard you'd got an S-rank mission, but still...'" he shakes his head. "I know you're Possessive of Mokichi and he does a lot for you but my own Bond for you is fading. Do you have anyone else, maybe Kazekage-sa-" Baki reflexively tensing cuts him off.

His grip almost imperceptibly tightens protectively. "Kami, I didn't realise...shit. I wish the Sandaime were still alive."

"Same," Ikoi says, striding into the living room. "Shameless bed-charmer he might have been but I'd take that over a shrivel-hearted slave-driver."

"Treasonous talk, dear-heart," Urayama comments absentmindedly.

"Any group that doesn't question it's leader is a cult, you big lunk," she replies, offering the bowl she's carrying to Baki. "Aaruul?"

He takes one of the little white shapes- this one is a flower- and the bittersweet milky taste of the curd reminds him of home.

"Did you at least get a period of leave?" Asks Urayama. "You should have."

"Fr'm missions," Baki mumbles. "Not sensei duties."

"OH FOR THE LOVE OF-" Ikoi suppresses her outburst. "One more incident; ONE MORE; and I'm putting in a report of Workplace Abuse, I swear to kami, don't think I won't!"

"I wonder if it's possible to have a Kage impeached?" Urayama muses aloud.

"Don't encourage her," Baki grins, before it quickly fell. "'Sides, I chose to take that mission. He gave it to me, sure, but I could have said no. I know it was ANBU-purview, but I'm technically ANBU level both physically and when it comes to clearance, being Kaze no Ken and all."

"Baki, brighteyes," Ikoi says softly, sitting down on his other side. "That was a honeypot/assassination combo mission. You have the skill but you know you don't have the mindset for those." She wraps her arms loosely around his shoulders, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Why're you hurting yourself Baki? It's horrible, seeing you grind your bones to dust like this."

 _Monster._

Baki lurches forward, struggling to get out of the iron grip of a memory of soft skin and hot trickling blood and the _smell of_ -

"Long, long ago  
In the field  
A lovely flower  
Bloomed...'"

The sound of singing filters through even as he shudders against the soft circling pressure on his back.

"'...Long, long ago  
People had  
Gentle, smiling  
Faces.

It is the truth,  
It is the truth.  
Although you may  
Not believe it.

That is what  
The Earth was.  
That is what  
This star was."

"You should sing professional," Baki manages to rasp out around the lingering sting of bile on the back of his tongue. Urayama pinks slightly at the compliment, as he always does.

"Then who would take care of you?" He replies, and Baki stifles a desperate keen, biting down on his knuckles.

"Thought...thought it would-" _squirming under his hands_ and he chokes. "She...target was...it was a _monster_. Killing monsters...I can at least pretend- pretend I'm still _human_. I thought. But it...'" _Twist of the wrist and pull the razor-edge. Efficient._ "I'm just more _filthy_ now."

Something invisible, metaphysical, crashes into him, _through him_ and suddenly his thoughts are no longer straining at fraying tethers to reality. Urayama takes his palm away from pressing over Baki's sternum. "I've restored the Possessive Bond I had with you. Are you back with us?"

"Y-yeah," Baki mumbles, basking in the feeling of _SafeProtectedSafePeace_ that's shielding his focus from the ugly thoughts. They're not gone by any means, but they no longer clamour and throw themselves against the inside of his skull and stick in his craw. "I just- _fuck_."

"You're staying for dinner, the night as well, brighteyes," Ikoi ordered gently. "The Bond'll need time to settle and you don't need the nightmares for a while."  
"Hot goat stew, silly radio dramas and all the sweet jam and aaruul we can eat," Urayama adds and Baki wavers.

"Sounds good."

* * *

 **The song is Mukashi Mukashi from the anime Space Pirate Captain Harlock(1978).**

 **Urayama and Ikoi have been mentioned in passing before. Basically;**

 **Urayama: Looks like dumb muscle who will kill you but is actually a soft-tempered, cultured cinnamon roll.  
Ikoi: Looks like a soft, shy cinnamon roll but will actually kill you after cussing you out and raising a mob.  
**

 **Hey, she broke both Kokan's legs when they were all kids, remember? And Urayama was the one who looked after The Squad?**

* * *

 **Aaruul is dried cheese/milk curds, a Mongolian 'hard-tack' if you will, since it literally lasts for _years_. Suna and the different desert nomads in particular make use of the long shelf life, easy storage, availability(made with just milk, seriously) and high nutritional value. **

**It's the key staple food of Kaze no Kuni, given the lack of farmland to grow rice or wheat and the cost of imports.**

 **Normally simply snacked on while on the move, it is often eaten with a variety of dips and sauces, ranging from sweet jams, to spicy vegetable chutneys, to sour pickles.**


	8. Picking up the Pieces

**Timeskip? -Ish?**

 **Anyway, this is where the juicy bits start, exploring the world of wider Sunagakure and Kaze no Kuni through the eyes of Baki as he tries to keep tabs on an insane but still childish Gaara.**

* * *

Ikoi's hand squeezes his, and Baki presses down on the slow stead pulse in the wrist in the sort of aching disbelief that comes after an adrenaline high like never before. She'd come so close to...

"Cheer up, bright-eyes," she manages to rasp. "Like a Bijuu's going to shove me off the mortal coil without my say-so."

Baki does his best not to look at her mangled upper torso, swathed in reams of bandages. He fails. Somewhere under there, one and a half ribs are missing, a pierced lung hastily patched and one and a half breasts mashed into shapeless meat; discarded into a surgical bin by the attending med-nin. But she's still here, still alive. And that's all that really matters.

A warm chest presses into his back, a thin arm snaking around his shoulder and face burying itself in the nape of his neck.

"Fffffffuuuuuuuuck," Mokichi groans. "Ev'yone's been treated now but I can't slee'. Y'should be sleepin' toooo," he slurs, prodding Baki in the ribs.  
Baki clasps his hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles.  
"How many soldier pills have you dosed yourself on? And how many hours have you been awake?"

A giggle, Mokichi sounding pretty floaty. "10 pills. I haven' sleeeepy in..." he breaks off to squint at the calendar on the far wall. "Free- _Three_ days. So much blood tho'. Place _stinks._ Li'...like...not your blood, your blood smells pretty. Like sparkles an'...an clouds. _Oh!_ "  
With that, Mokichi sags onto Baki's back, out for the count.

"Well, he's high as all balls," Ikoi comments dryly. "Look, roll up spare blanket for a pillow and shove him under my bed for safe-keeping, alright?"

Baki grunts in slight pain as he leans on his splinted leg while lowering the insensate Mokichi to the floor." _Unh._ Thanks. Those soldier pills were staving off his chakra exhaustion, so I'll be by with some Achaar in a bit so he can eat and get his strength up."

"Achaar. The fuck?"

"The little gremlin's favourite go-to energy food; he'll eat spoonfuls straight out the jar if you give him half a chance. There we go..." Baki carefully kicks Mokichi's protruding foot back under the hospital bed. Picking up his crutch, he turns to leave, only for Ikoi's hand to grab onto his shirt hem.

"Don't."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says flatly, but he knows she's seen his intention in line of his body; but most likely it's just some form of that eldritch skill Motherly Clairvoyance.

"I don't like you being alone with him, bright-eyes. What do you even hope to gain, anyway?"

Why is he even doing this again? Ah yes. "I am the sword of Sunagakure; I will not see this Village without it's shield, whether broken or not."

* * *

 _hissss. sssshh._

 _hissss. sssshh._

 _hissss. sssshh._

The medical breathing mask fogs up and clears in time to the rhythmic pumping. The heady mixture is a concoction of neural stimulants, neuromuscular blockers and an assortment of mood-changers such as cannabinoids and dopamines. Perfect for keeping someone awake but unable to process or react to information.

Perfect for, say, a Jinchuuriki who can't be sent to sleep or left awake and aware.

Baki wonders what Gaara- _so small, hunched in that chair, blood drying on his brow-_ is seeing and hearing in the grasp of all those chemicals. If he's happier there.

Baki wonders what Rasa is thinking, as he sits in the chair opposite his tiny, doll-like son. Regret? Hate? Logic? Nostalgia? Pity?  
He will never know.

"He failed," Rasa whispers aloud to the room, to the uncaring walls and the cold machines and the gold that dusts the floor like snow in the sunrise and the three broken people. Broken in

Mind

 _Gaara_ ,

Body

 _Baki_

and Heart.

 _Rasa._

'Failed', he says. Like it was a written paper at the Academy.

"You forced your _six-year-old_ , emotionally fragile _son_ , through a _Snap Event_ ," Baki enunciates carefully. "Of course he was going to go through a Psych Shift. What made you think he wouldn't?"  
And Snap Events are nothing to joke about. Baki can still remember Mokichi writhing on the grass in the grip of an Uchiha genjutsu, screaming silently in horrible twisting convulsions of the spine as they pinned him down to stop him clawing at his own lips and throat.

Snap Events; to be so driven out of your mind in pain and fear and uncertainty that your very chakra signature begins to unravel. A Psych Shift for it latch onto any comforting presence it can find and use that as a template and focal point for a new mentality; the resulting dependency being Resonation.

All that remains to be seen is who exactly Gaara will rebuild himself around.

"He failed," Rasa repeats numbly. Unhearing, it seems. "If he failed, he's useless and has to be replaced."

"And what will you tell Temari and Kankuro? That their little brother, the one their mother _died for_ , was discarded like so much trash?"

Rasa hunches forward in on himself. "Shut up. _Please_."

"Not until you stop making mistakes!"

"HOW IS IT A MISTAKE TO DO MY DUTY!?" He roars, leaping from his chair. Baki flinches, because Rasa has never been a man to shout in his anger and right now he's a gnarl of twisted raw nerves stuffed back into a too-small skin. "I'm trying to make this Village _strong_ , Baki, isn't that enough?! When is it enough? _What more do you want from me_?!"

 _'You say you value the Will of Sand; 'A single grain of sand is nothing but a thousand together can crush a mountain', so why do you actively flaunt the thing you swore to uphold? The holder of the title of Kazekage binds together and shepherds Sunagakure as a family and community together, so when did you decide the sacrifice of your wife, son, all those shinobi, was what was needed? The only thing stopping you from being thrown out is that Suna can't handle another lost Kazekage, or a civil war...and some of us remember the man you used to be.'  
_ Baki swallows back his words.

"Don't kill Gaara. For better or for worse, we must all learn to live with this mistake and learn from it. Throw me to the jackals and make me teach him if you want, but you shouldn't make him pay any more for this. Kazekage-sama."

A long, long silence pervades the room.

And then...

"Alright."

* * *

 **Achaar is a range of spiced and pickled blends of chopped fruit and vegetables; the Western world would probably know it better as Piccalilli. (Achaar was the original dish, the Brits just copied it)**


End file.
